If You Needed Me
by SNOWGLOBESAREAWESOME
Summary: Veronica's father WAS killed in the plane that fateful night. Her life begins to crumble, and Logan is the only one to catch the pieces. Can she get back on track? Will a love born of adversity last, if they have no one but each other to hold on to? V/L
1. Chapter 1

If You Needed Me

Prologue

Veronica's breath came to her in a rush and her eyes shot open. Her vision blurred for a moment and she clawed a hand through her matted hair, feeling grimy and exhausted. She came to her feet, frantic to discern dream from reality. The plane that carried her father… had it _really_ exploded? Cassidy coming clean about raping her, then trying to kill her, only to be thwarted by a noble appearance of a lost love? Was her father dead?

She staggered down the hall, calling out his name in a hopeful yet grief-stricken voice. "Dad? Dad!" When Veronica stumbled into the kitchen, she saw him and a moment of complete joy made her heart swell. He stood over the oven. By all appearances, he was cooking breakfast. But her joy was crushed when the man in her kitchen turned to face her, and she was met with the sympathy-filled face of one Logan Echols.

"I'm sorry, Veronica," he muttered, grabbing her shoulders and crowding her into his arms. Something deep inside her came unwound, as if there were a ball of yarn that had been unraveling since Lilly died. And in that instant, the last strand fell apart. She rested her full weight into Logan, only because she sincerely couldn't hold herself up. She saw the ruffled pillows on the couch and his bedhead and realized that he'd slept over, to comfort her.

"All of it…Cassidy?"

"Jumped," Logan confirmed with glassy eyes.

She felt filthy. Her skin crawled with the weight and grief of the last 24 hours. She pawed at her hair, trying to get it to lay flat. Logan's hand stilled hers and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but you'll get through this. I'll be here, to help you, and…"

Veronica stopped him by gripping him fiercely and sobbing into his shoulder.

When the tears seemed to run out, at least for a moment, Veronica sighed and turned her death-grip on Logan into a hug of appreciation. She felt his chest rise and fall against hers and she drank in his vitality, his warmth. Even in her grief, Veronica's heart swelled with love and appreciation of Logan.

"I need a shower," she muttered, pulling away from him slightly.

"Oh, um, OK. I'll be out here when you're finished."

Veronica clasped his hand in hers. "Don't leave. Just…I can't be alone right now." His eyebrows shot up in a way that was so Logan. Veronica would've laughed, if her heart wasn't breaking.

"You want me to shower with you…?"

Veronica smiled brokenly at him before kissing him on the cheek. "Just sit in the bathroom with me, OK?" In the bathroom, she commanded him to look away while she undressed, less than two feet from him. His eyes closed obediently as she slipped into the shower. The hot water hit her skin and she sighed, purposefully pushing thoughts of her father's death out of her mind and heart.

The smell of burnt popcorn filled the apartment. Veronica emerged from her room wearing her night clothes and drying her hair with a towel. The sun streamed through the living room window, illuminating the scene she walked in on. Logan opened the microwave, plucked the piping hot popcorn bag out, and flung it onto the counter. With a half-grin, he stuck his burned thumb into his mouth.

"Ouch," he laughed, slamming the microwave shut. "I figured we could watch a movie, shoot the breeze, and relax for the rest of the day. Apparently," he said with a sigh, "we will be doing all of the above, but without popcorn." He leaned on the counter, smiling at Veronica with his glinting brown eyes. She offered him a smirk before she connected with his chest again and the tears began anew. He combed his fingers through her damp hair and smoothed his hand over her back.

Logan pressed quick, dry kisses to her forehead while she expelled all of the grief inside her.

**Short, yes. A sampler. I am incredibly new to the Mars fanfiction scene. Before now, I've never read/written a single Veronica Mars fanfiction, because it seems incredibly dorky.**

**Well, folks, call me the biggest dork of all. I just missed these characters **_**so**_** much. If I were the writer for the show, this is how things would've gone down. **

**Haven't you ever wondered…. How would Logan and Veronica's relationship change if she relied on him to get through the toughest time in her life?**

**Hmmm, we'll see.**

**If it sucks, remember… I'm new to this. Tips are welcome. **


	2. Chapter 2

_If You Needed Me…_

"I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien

**One**

Veronica's mouth felt like a desert. She glanced up from her bed on the couch to see that her head was in Logan's lap. He was wide awake and flipped through the TV channels, but Veronica could tell that he wasn't really looking for something to watch. The dark gleam of his eyes was too pensive for late-night TV watching.

"You don't have to stay here," she reminded with a broken smile.

Logan realized that his Sleeping Beauty was finally awake, and he tossed the heaviness from his expression to give her a slanted smirk. "Will you stop trying to get rid of me?" He sighed and turned off the TV. A car alarm went off outside the apartment and a dog howled out its frustration. "I've been here a week. My imprint is made in the couch, just like yours. I'm not going anywhere."

The unspoken appreciation glinted in Veronica's eyes as she sat upright and stretched. "What time is it?"

Logan yanked back the sleeve to his sage green shirt and peered at his watch with squinted eyes. "Minutes to midnight, I'm afraid. You have quite the biological clock, Mars. When the rest of the world goes to sleep, you wake up." Logan stood and paced to the kitchen which, in the last week, had come to feel more familiar than home.

He opened the freezer and plucked out a tub of half-empty Chocolate Fudge ice cream. With a flourish, he located two clean spoons (the last clean ones, actually) and sat opened the apartment door. A cool breeze stirred the stagnant apartment and Veronica tilted her head in confusion.

"We're eating ice cream…outside?"

"Yes. Now get your butt of that couch before it becomes grafted into your skin. That fabric would make your ass look _huge_."

Veronica threw him a look that read, "I may be small, but I _will_ kill you." Logan laughed and meandered out the door with the ice cream in hand. Groaning, she abandoned her place on the sofa and followed him. He leaned against the rail and handed Veronica a spoon. She snatched it from him and plunged it into the frozen tub.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, the cool midnight breeze unwinding every inch of tension in her body. She glanced over at Logan, at his rumpled green shirt and equally rumpled jeans. He looked exhausted and Veronica knew that it was her fault. She had developed an irregular sleeping pattern, due to the depression that swept her life aside after her father died.

The funeral was a week away and time just seemed to tick at half speed. Every time Veronica slept, she had nightmares and awoke sweating, wilted on the sofa with Logan's face looming nearby…always uttering comforting things and waiting patiently for her to fall asleep again.

"We should get you more clothes," Veronica said with a sigh. "Those are starting to smell."

"I dunno," Logan replied thoughtfully, licking the chocolate from his spoon. "I kind of like the grungy look. It's edgy, don't you think?" He batted his eyes and Veronica stifled an unladylike snort.

"Yes, Logan, it's very Cobain of you. Let's go to your place, get some clothes." That's when Logan's expression went south and his skin paled.

His extended stay at her apartment wasn't just for Veronica's sake. Logan was running from the fact that he had no home – no place to go to, except a hotel. And no family to speak of, after the death of his father. They were both grieving, although in vastly different ways. After all, Aaron Echolls wasn't exactly an ideal father.

Not like Keith Mars.

Sometimes Veronica could sit very still, close her eyes, and feel her father's presence. It was a silly exercise, she knew, because he was nowhere near her. But still, it provided a small measure of comfort, followed swiftly by a sea of grief. It was worth it, however, just to feel him there, if only for a moment.

Logan's grief more closely resembled a riotous storm of bitterness and hatred, mingled with the fear that he, too, would become a monster, just like Daddy. Then came the self-pity that he, the privileged young celebrity, was suddenly an orphan – alone in every sense of the word.

Standing outside the apartment that night, they both reflected silently about their lives, the paths they would take, the way things would turn out. Only when Veronica broke the silence did Logan's eyes tear away from his shoes.

"C'mon," she muttered. "We need your keys if we're going tonight."

The Neptune Grand was silent as they crept through the lobby and into the elevator. Logan stood beside her, clearly tense, and she laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The hotel was a source of many bad memories for them both. It was where Aaron Echolls' body was found, and where Beaver plummeted to his death. It was where Veronica watched her father's plane explode in the sky, and where her entire world shattered into fragments of grief and misery.

"I hate this place," she muttered when the elevator doors dinged and opened up into the hallway. Logan sighed and followed as she darted out.

"That makes two of us."

The hotel room was clean but cold and thoroughly unlived in. Logan set about his task while Veronica fell onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. "You want to take a shower while I pack a bag?" called Logan from another room.

Veronica kicked her feet, remembered all of the terrible things that occurred in the hotel. "I think I'd rather get the hell out of here," she replied and drew herself to her feet. She found Logan in his room, stuffing clothes into a bag. He cleaned out all of his dresser drawers into three messily arrayed suitcases. Veronica watched him with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm checking out for good tonight," he announced breathily as he heaved the bags onto the bed. On his way to call up the bell boy, he passed Veronica and patted her on the shoulder. "I can't _wait_ to be roomies."

* * *

**I know, it's been a _long_ time but DAMN, writing VMars fanfics takes a lot of energy! I wrote this in less than an hour (hehe) but it took _forever_ to muster it up. I don't really know why. O.o Hopefully the fountain of my creativity doesn't run dry (or hasn't, already). We shall see, in short snippetts. :D**

**Let me know what you think, and thanks for the reviews on the first bit. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

_If You Needed Me…_

"No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear."- C.S. Lewis

**Two**

Mac stood by the cemetery gates, frowning at the large, unexpected gray clouds that rolled over the sun. It was still warm, though, as she walked toward the funeral, and she tugged at the thick black collar of her long-sleeved black shirt.

Her appearance at Cassidy Casablanca's funeral would, perhaps, become her largest secret. If Veronica found out, she would feel betrayed, and justly so. But still, as the hour loomed ever closer, Mac found herself picking out black clothes and blotting on lip gloss.

As she suspected, the funeral was scarcely populated. She saw several people, standing around the brown and gold coffin that was adorned in a lavish display of red roses. Of those standing around the hole in the ground, Mac recognized only one person – Dick.

As soon as she saw the miserable expression on his face, Mac knew that she couldn't allow him to see her. Word around Neptune was that Dick had become unstable, after the death of his younger brother. Mac knew that seeing his little brother's girlfriend could ignite his anger, and she didn't want to cause a scene.

Cassidy's father was nowhere to be seen, and neither was his well-tanned, busty step-mother. Dick stood among a few older individuals, who were obviously old friends of the family. A small part of Mac longed to go and stand beside him, grasp his arm as they both bid farewell to the _good _things about Cassidy.

Even considering that a rapist and murderer could have "good things" about him made Mac shudder, but it was true. Despite the fact that Cassidy had taken advantage of Veronica, killed the kids on the bus, and killed Keith… Mac still believed that Cassidy was, at the core of everything, a victim. Victim of that slimy scoundrel, Woody Goodman.

The rain began to fall and the funeral-goers sprouted black umbrellas, all except Dick. Mac watched as the rain made dark spots on Dick's grey suit, watched as the tall, confident male swiped at his eyes.

The pastor finished saying whatever it was that he said – Mac couldn't hear, from where she hid behind a tree – and the funeral-goers began patting Dick's shoulder and trickling away to their shiny cars. Mac waited for a long while for Dick to leave the grave site and allow her a moment alone with Cassidy, but he didn't leave. Not even when the pastor laid a hand on his arm and advised that he go.

The rain picked up, turning into a full-force downpour. Mac didn't care that her carefully-chosen black outfit was drenched. She only wanted to say goodbye in peace, without drama or prying eyes. It was, after all, a secret that she decided to make an appearance. In her situation, however, Mac saw that she would be unable to be discrete. She walked through the wet grass and came to stand beside Dick.

"What are you doing here?" he muttered, without glancing up from the coffin. Mac cleared her throat but still, her voice came out as a croak.

"I wanted to say goodbye."

"He never cared about you." The gently uttered words were like a spear to Mac's already grieving heart. She felt a lump growing in her throat and she swallowed around it.

"You're probably right."

"I am." Without sparing a single glance in her direction, Dick walked away. Mac watched as he paced quickly through the rain, to his car. He drove away, tires squealing, and Mac was finally alone.

"Um…miss?" Mac looked up from the coffin that held him – the boy she once believed she loved – and saw that the funeral home employee was standing impatiently by the graveside.

"Please, just give me a moment," Mac muttered and placed her hand on the wet coffin surface. "Goodbye." With a sniffle, she turned and walked away. It was time to continue – time to remember that life goes on.

Mac dialed Veronica's cell for the hundredth time that week. Keith's funeral was in a few days and, after that, the reading of his will. Mac was concerned for her friend – concerned that she wasn't being properly comforted.

But one thing kept Mac from marching to Veronica's apartment and pounding on the door – fear.

She was terrified of the grief that Veronica was enduring. She couldn't fathom losing someone so close and, knowing that the two Mars detectives were closer than was the norm, Mac couldn't face her.

It was just too hard.

She was just too afraid.

Still, in her heart, Mac hoped earnestly that _someone_ was with her, helping to ease her pain – holding her while she cried, keeping her from teetering over the edge, and, most importantly, making her laugh, too.

* * *

"LOGAN!" Veronica wailed, giggling, as she dashed through the apartment and fell face-first on her bed. "Put on some _pants_!"

"Don't worry your poor virgin heart," Logan called after her, chuckling. "I'm not so scantily attired now." He plopped down on the bed beside her, wearing a pair of shorts and a blue t-shirt.

"Yes, well 'scantily attired' was an understatement. If we're going to live here together, you're going to need some modesty."

"Oh, come on, Mars. You know that it's customary for room-mates to be upfront with one another."

"Logan, 'upfront' would be telling you when you need to change your socks. What just happened… that was _harassment_."

"You get one peep for free," he added with a wide grin. Logan rose and made his way to the kitchen, as Veronica peeled her face from the bed. He called out, "What do you want for dinner?"

"Um…. Ice cream?" Veronica meandered into the kitchen, sat on a barstool, and grimaced at the pile of dishes in the sink. "We need to clean up."

"Yeah, you'd better get on that, wifey." Logan spun around, holding out a phone book. Veronica's brow arched upward.

"What's that for?"

Logan sighed and leaned over the counter. He pointed to the number and address for a Chinese restaurant. "Allow me to teach you the ways of _true_ roomies. Chinese takeout, to your heart's content."

Pursing her lips, Veronica took the phone book and dialed the number.

Twenty minutes later, four open to-go boxes littered the countertops and they sat on the sofa, stuffing their faces. "Hm, what about this one?" Logan turned up the volume on the television. "Who did it?"

It was a CSI rerun. Veronica shrugged and wiggled her way closer to Logan. "How should I know?"

"You're the detective," he insisted. "Shouldn't you have a sixth sense about these things?"

"Only if I've seen the episode before," she replied with a cheeky grin. Prodding at her noodles, Veronica became aware of Logan's arm tightening around her. She glanced up at him to see that he was utterly entranced by the TV.

Smiling, she leaned over and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. Surprised, Logan tore his eyes from the crime scene on the TV and cocked his head at Veronica.

"Thanks," she explained, feeling the familiar tug of her emotions as they took control. "Thanks, for holding me together through all this."

Logan's eyes glossed over but he didn't glance away. "You know, you've been glue for me, too." Clearing his throat, he put his food on the coffee table. "So…thanks, too."

"You're welcome," she said and laid her head on his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she listened to his shallow breathing and committed the rhythm of the dull thud of his heartbeat to memory.

Logan couldn't seem to focus on the TV show for the rest of the evening.

* * *

**I circumvented my creative dryspell by exploring the Mac-Dick dynamic a little. Let me tell ya... Dick is my VERY FAVORITE character, so you'll be seeing a lot of him. I think he's funny and, believe it or not, _intelligent. _He just hides it, with humor, and I think he could use a friend like Mac to draw it out every once in a while. ^.^**

**How cool would it be, for Veronica's best friend to become friends with Logan's best friend? :D **

**Let me know your opinions on this, and whatnot. I know it's moving slowly, but things move _really_ slowly after something as horrible as the death of a loved one. If you've experienced it, you understand. **

**Happy writing!**


	4. Chapter 4

_If You Needed Me…_

* * *

"To weep is to make less the depth of grief."  
― William Shakespeare

* * *

**Three**

Frustrated, Veronica threw the last item of clothing from her closet onto her bed. Her closet was officially emptied of its contents. Sighing, she stepped back and viewed the sloppy array of clothes. Some were too bright, others were too revealing. She didn't want to wear pumps and a mini-skirt to her father's funeral, after all.

At the heart of it all, Veronica knew her anxiety didn't stem from a lack of dark, frumpy clothes. She knew that attending the funeral would mean greeting those old faces – faces that reminded her of a happier time. It was wrong, she knew, to avoid Wallace and Mac for so long, but it was what she needed to do at the time. Seeing them again would be awkward and, she expected, would ignite another round of sobbing.

Then there was the part where she had to say goodbye.

Her father's clothes still stuffed his drawers, yet she was supposed to say goodbye? Everything around her screamed his presence, but still he was absent. On more than once occasion, Logan caught her ruffling through Keith's things, smelling his clothes, crying on his pillow. She wasn't ready to say goodbye. She couldn't imagine herself _ever_ ready to say goodbye.

"Veronica," Logan called out, popping his head in every room until he found her. "There you are. Are you almost ready?" He examined the crazy state of her room and the fact that she was still wearing pajamas. He didn't want to rush her, but the clock was ticking. The funeral would start in less than twenty minutes.

"I don't know what to wear," she uttered hollowly. Logan knew that face and, sure enough, a flood of tears followed. He arrived at her side just in time for her head to drop to his chest, trapping all of the tears against his starched black button-up.

"Take your time," he whispered.

"People are waiting. I can't believe I've had all week to figure this out, and here I am still looking." She wrapped her arms tighter around his torso, indicating that she wasn't OK with moving away from him just yet.

"Let me make the decision, OK? Here, just wear this." He plucked up a red shirt, a black sweater, and a long black skirt.

"I can't wear red." Sniffling, she turned it away.

"It's OK, Veronica. Don't worry about what people will think…"

"I said I can't fucking wear red, _OK_?" In a burst of anger, Veronica pushed away from him and slapped her hands over her face. Dumbfounded, Logan reached for her. "No, Logan, just _leave_. _Leave, Logan!_" His head dropped before he left obediently.

Veronica crumbled to the ground, unable to stop the new wave of misery that crashed over her. It was as if, for the last week, she had been numb. On the floor of her bedroom, it ripped back through her anew. _He's dead. Dead…oh God, how can it be true?_ Veronica was convinced that a true, palpable wound had opened up in her chest, where her heart hammered away its useless existence. She remembered him, smiling at her, protecting her, and realized that there was no one left to protect her. No one left to shield her from the unnecessary pains of life.

Only after a half hour did Veronica summon herself to her feet and throw on the first thing she could get her hands on. It wasn't until she stepped out into the living room that she realized exactly what she was wearing – a dusty pink blouse and black dress pants, and with sneakers, no less.

"Let's go," she huffed out hoarsely. Logan saw the trembling of her lip, the swollen state of her eyes, and was overcome with compassion. He followed silently down to the parking lot, and that silence endured during the drive to the funeral home.

The first person to lay eyes on Veronica was Mac. She stood with Wallace and Miss Fennel, but only Mac spotted her immediately, as if her eyes had been seeking her to begin with. There was clear hesitancy in Mac's eyes as she took a step toward her grieving friend. But seeing the utter desperation in Veronica's eyes catapulted her onward.

"Oh, Veronica," she cried out, throwing her arms around her in a rare display of distress. Mac distinctly felt the eyes of everyone in the room dart toward them, but she didn't care. Veronica crumpled as soon as she touched her friend, just as she expected, and the two became a weeping mass in the center of the funeral home lobby.

Soon others realized what was going on, and a few flocked to them – Wallace, his mother, and, surprisingly, Carrie Bishop.

Carrie and Veronica were never really friends, but after sending the history teacher Mr. Rooks out of Neptune High, a strange but distant friendliness developed between them. When Carrie heard about the death of Keith, she convinced herself to attend the funeral. As she crowded Veronica into her arms, she was grateful that she had.

Logan waited in the corner, out of sight and out of mind. It seemed like an eternity, to Logan, before the group worked up the energy to stand and wobble toward the main room. He trailed behind as Wallace, Mac, and Carrie escorted Veronica down the halls. Suddenly, it felt as if everything had shifted. His good standing with Veronica was in question, and her need for him seemed almost non-existent to his troubled eyes. That concerned him for more than one reason.

Namely because Logan needed Veronica, too.

Probably more than she needed him.

The funeral goers found their seats and waited for the pastor to begin his sermon on love and grief. His words were a distant rumble as Veronica stared at her hands, hoping and praying for the service to end so that she could fall apart and not attract attention. Mac sat beside her, gripping her hand, but Veronica felt strangely void and cold. She craned her head around to see Logan, sitting several rows behind them, alone.

People watched as she stood up in the middle of the service and walked back to where Logan was seated. He looked at her with confused eyes as she just stood, staring.

Finally, she sat beside him and pulled herself flush against his chest. His arms found their usual place around her shoulders and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. Veronica allowed soft sobs to roll from her chest as warmth flooded her once more. "I needed you over there," she whispered, peering up at him with bloodshot eyes.

Mentally, Logan rejoiced, even though he knew he was an asshole for it. He couldn't muster the energy to care because, thank heavens, she still needed him.

Beneath a sunny sky, the funeral proceeded through the cemetery that, unfortunately, had become quite busy. Aaron, Keith, Cassidy…all lay buried in different ends of the same cemetery. It was a sick sort of coincidence, and Veronica preferred not to think about it.

The last remaining Mars stood with a crowd rallied around her, literally holding her upright as the coffin was lowered. Mac was there, amazed at the difference between the two funerals – Cassidy and Keith. Amazed at the difference between the support Veronica received and the lack of support Dick was faced with.

Her heart flooded with compassion and she resolved to speak with Dick, once the funeral ended.

As Veronica's eyes drifted across the faces of the people in the crowd, her vision snagged on a familiar tuft of blonde hair. She peered more closely at the woman, clad in all black with a veil covering her eyes. Horror and shock sprinted down Veronica's spine as the veil was pulled back, to allow the woman to dab at her tears, and Veronica realized...

It was her mother.

* * *

**Dun dun DUN! Ok, so not THAT dramatic. :P Expected.**


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